RCHD
by Quiet Little Wren
Summary: It's a new year at Haven Academy, and it seams Team Orchid is unable to stray from trouble—with others and with themselves. And as it will prove, their tendency towards calamity may jeopardize the welfare of Remnant in its entirety. However, for these unfortunate students, certain… abstractions will be made, and the lines between good and evil forever blurred.
1. Prologue: Don't Look Down

Dr. Mint's experiments had thus far failed, and consequently, some of his less patient patrons had invested in 'emergency insurance'—the man in darkest blue: Slate Draven. He stood just inside the gloomy office, dull phosphorescent lights barely reaching the sleek, midnight walls. The corners of the room were but shadows, its center tables, and at its end, a desk at which Dr. Mint sat and snapped, "So what do you want me to do? Give up? Make the money back some other way?"

" _I_ do not want a thing—"

"If you're here to kill me, go right ahead!" Dr. Mint threw up his arms, hysterical to entertain the agent sent to rush his work. "The consortium can do whatever they want— _get_ whatever they what: if they want _quality_ research, run back and tell them to stop making idle threats."

Beakers brimmed with colorful liquids, scents swirled full of sulfur—it was a world of strange imagery, one that Slate did not wish to take company in. It was bothersome to offer his service to such an impatient man, but as it was demanded, there were little options but to serve Dr. Mint.

"I am not here to rush you, Dr. Mint."

"Really? Because I don't know why else they'd send someone like _you_ here."

"My reasons here are twofold."

"So the first is a meaningless threat, and the second?"

"A suggestion."

"You're going to give the scientist a suggestion?"

"Yes, I am," Slate began, "The Class A Subjects died within a day. They were weak. Find more resilient patients."

"That's as obvious as it is stupid. Do you expect me to find _willing_ Huntsman? Or do you expect me to _capture_ one myself?"

"Not Huntsmen—their students. From the academies."

Dr. Mint rapped his fingers along his desk, rhythmically bemusing a laboring imagination. It was plausible, yes, but was that a level he wanted to stoop to? "Alright. I'll consider it—"

"And, Dr. Mint, although I cannot kill you, I can very well _harm_ you."

"They like me _a lot_ more than they like you. If you disrupt my work I'll have you strung up in some basement in Kuchinashi—I'll break your legs and dump you in the Badlands. Do you really want to play games like that, _Mr. Draven_?" It was only the clamor of restless crickets that initially responded to Dr. Mint's listless intentions.

"I am sorry." Within but five steps, full of heavy menace, the man in red towered before Dr. Mint's desk, "but if you _truly_ desire to kill me, _I implore you to try_." Slate allowed his rather chevalier bluff to sit with Dr. Mint; although he had no desire to defy his employers, Slate believed that with some benign deception, a better attitude could be assigned to Dr. Mint. "I can do _whatever_ I want. _You_ still have to obtain results. Tangible results. And if you do not obtain these results, I _will_ harm you."

"Well," Dr. Mint said, glasses rattling as a tremulous hand adjusted them, "I suppose I can organize something—"

"Allow me, Dr. Mint. My success is contingent on _your_ success. It would be in both of our interests to defer subject acquisition to me."

"Alice-Gregory-Frank." Dr. Mint sighed and pulled his glasses from his nose, setting them on the desk. "It's the resource code for—who would've guessed—my resources. Try and keep it under budget."

A brisk smile crept across Slate's rather drab demeanor. "All's well in a job well done."

* * *

"Yes, Mom, I had breakfast." Raider rolled her eyes; even through her scroll she could feel the residuals of her mother's paranoia—the last semblance of home. It reminded her she was not yet a Huntress and her freedom in Mistral had been so far illusory. Raider, frustrated, clutched a lock of her shaggy, auburn mane: the onslaught of tepid questions had begun.

"What did you have?"

"The usual. Steak and eggs."

"What kind?" her father chimed.

"Does it matter?"

"You do know scrambled eggs are the best for muscle tone, correct?" followed in succession by her mother asking,

"Did you have milk?" Before she could respond to either, he father spoke again:

"Was your steak rare?"

Raider's frustration built, and by the tenth inquiry above her morning-time meals, she audibly _growled_ ; her seatmates, those on either side of Raider, gave nervous glances to each other upon the primal noise that only a Faunus could generate. Before she snapped and said something she regretted, Raider attempted to change the subject:

"Could we talk about something _other_ than breakfast?" There was a reprieve and Raider seized the chance. "So how's—" A sudden dip in the airship and the groan of iron interrupted her question, and she glanced to the ceiling, pursed her lips in irritation, and then looked back at her parents.

"What was that?" her mother asked insistently.

"Just the airship. The ride's been a bit bumpy."

"Didn't you already arrive at Haven?"

"I did, but this is apparently part of the initiation." Raider glanced out the window; she noticed they were deep within the Badlands, far from any towns, and flying particularly low to the ground. "It doesn't look like we're near anything so—" An explosion rocked the ship, nearly knocking Raider's scroll from her hands. Red alarms spun and sirens' shrill screams halted the casual pleasantries the ships' occupants were enjoying.

"What's happening?" shouted Raider's parents over the call, leaning into the camera as if to snag peripheral glimpses of the bedlam occurring behind their daughter.

"I don't know," Raider said, nervous fingers gripping onto the over-the-shoulder restraints, "but I should probably go—"

"Raider, don't you dare—" And as she merrily closed her scroll, a voice came upon the intercom:

"Students: this is Braith Brunswick." The voice hushed sirens' blare, and with it, the students aboard the rumbling, sputtering airship. "You haven't met me, but I will be your combat instructor at Haven Academy. Today is your initiation." Raider bit her lip; since she'd arrived at Mistral, she had been waiting for this—the chance to show off.

"Ten minutes from now," he continued, "this ship is going to crash. I highly suggest _not_ being on it." The door to airship opened: air was sucked from inside the plane, and it roared as the vehicle sped through the crisp morning skies.

"Getting out is simple. When the restraints are up, _jump_." Raider noted her colleagues' expressions, and it seemed Brunswick's humor was ill-appreciated by the cast of tentative students. "You'll get to go one at a time. Once you land, find the wreckage of this ship, take a piece of scrap metal, and then haul it back to the marked locations. Flares will guide you to it.

Now, the Badlands are not a friendly place so the best way to get through them is with _extreme_ prejudice. We'll be keeping an eye on you to grade you—not to help you, so don't do anything _too_ stupid. Oh, and by the way—" pausing to clear his throat—"the first person you see will be your partner. For four years. Hope you're lucky."

It seemed hapless, random, and left to fate; there was so little precision in the testing process that it practically _shamed_ empiricism—basically, it was perfect. To Raider, chance—the uncommon occurrence—was that which sorted practiced mechanism from genuine cunning.

"Any questions?" And when half the students raised their hand, Brunswick laughed. "Just kidding: this isn't a two-way comm, so with out further adieu, let's get going. In no particular order, first up: Raider Ulfolk."

"What."

The bars holding Raider lifted, and like in a vacuum, she was pulled towards the open door. Thankfully, she caught her footing in time, stood straight, and confidently stalked towards the whirling doorway. Lingering for a moment, Raider adjusted her tie and looked over her shoulder, leaving a parting message for her fellow students:

"Don't look down."

The ground was slick from the downpour, and the wind swept and swore at the vines draped across the jungle's trunks. Beneath the restless canopy, Slate brushed a spot of rain from the fur of his coat, and as his call connected, pressed the scroll to his ear.

"You are likely busy, so I will make this brief: we need bodies. Dr. Mint requested 'the finest specimens.' Your job is to simply assure their availability; _I_ will capture them. Contact me when there are sufficient details to begin preparations." Slate hesitated to end the call for a single, destructive remark: "Recall what is at stake. For you—and your family."

* * *

 _Afterword: I really hope you guys like this! Please read the next chapter before saying anything though; they're kind of a package deal. This is just a cute lil' introduction. The next is the actual meat of the main characters. Also, yes, I did draw that cover art._


	2. No Good

Raider reaved the husky smoke dribbling from her shotguns, long, contented breaths stuffing her full of the acrid smoke Huntsmen were privileged to indulge. For the layman, it was perverse to adore the sights and smells of uncommon destruction; to Raider, it was solace. To enjoy tense, unsightly hues and dark, bitter smells—small practicalities unique to the militant youth. Without the means to appease their fragile minds—appease with tricks of justified slaughter—the means to arm seventeen-year-olds would be immoral, and Raider wouldn't be smiling over the body of a headless Ursa.

In retrospect, Raider had employed one too many bullets: by the first, the Ursa was no longer moving. By the second, its was missing its head. The inefficiency could be questioned but not her results; it was a wasteful philosophy but one that would keep her alive. Raider had heard one too many stories of Huntsmen who turned their back, believing a Grimm had fallen, and were slain by inky, bone-wrought monsters. Convicted to elude the likes of such unceremonious defeats, Raider believed the most prudent action would be to _behead any Grimm she faced._ It was draconian, yes, but once she saw that lacuna between the shoulders, she wouldn't have to worry about it coming back to life.

Having thoroughly admired her handiwork, Raider felt safe and satisfied enough to sling _Wolf Joint_ into the holster on her back—right next to its sister gun.

Suddenly the canine ears that sat atop Raider's head twitched; they heard footfall. For several moments, Raider considered it to be the canyon walls playing tricks on her ears, as they so often did, but in her stillness, the footsteps became clearer as they neared the rocky bend. They weren't the heaved, lumbering stomps of a Beowulf or Ursa—the bipedal pace of a human or possibly a Faunus.

Raider contemplated running, to delay the inevitable for the blind chance of a superior partner: no, it was foolish to assume that she could control fate. It was simple circumstances that lead her to this moment, not error or mistake—so why gamble? In those few seconds before they'd come around the curve, Raider deliberated what type of person she'd want as a partner: whoever "they" were, they had one, long black horn.

Raider became lost in lilac eyes, admiring the gaunt beauty standing cloaked in dark, dark purple. It became on odd task Raider found herself trying to complete: discerning the gender of her rather androgynous partner.

"Calluna Oldspell," he said, voice rich full of threats; Raider, caught in dumbface'd ogling, failed to immediately register that one-horn was male. A hand—a left hand—was extended towards her, and though bizarre'd as to why the _left_ hand, Raider firmly gripped it.

"Raider Ulfolk," she sputtered, astonished by the strength of the rather petite Faunus. Before she could match the depth of Calluna's strength, the handshake was over, and the one-horn was walking down the canyon.

"Let's go."

Raider stood, bewildered and irritated, irritated that Calluna had taken control of the situation with such deft execution. It would be impressive—if he were with any other person but Raider. The wolf bounded past Calluna into the gully, setting a brisk run as the pace they would move; rather tacitly, Raider's partner accepted her challenge and, in turn, sprinted ahead of her. She could see the begrudge pursed on his lips and struck on a furtive brow; her prejudice had belied her once—she would not let the advantage slip again.

"Hey, _Oldspell._ " Raider jogged alongside Calluna, none too impressed by the pace he'd set. "If you're going to _try_ and lead, at least keep a pace that will get us there."

"Is there a problem, _Ulfolk_?" Calluna sped again, and instead of matching him, Raider—advantaged by her height—sprawled ahead.

"I'd expect someone your size to be more nimble—"

"Death Stalker!" On his call, Raider looked straight, and in a widened segment of gorge saw the hissing, goliath scorpion Calluna warned of. Instead of stopping, Raider sped and committed to proving _she_ would be leading. Her partner, she assumed, would also employ this plan—and that put a time limit on killing her quarry.

Raider slung both shotguns from her back, and akimbo she rolled under the crashing colossus claws. The barrel of a shotgun staked between its thrashing mandibles, and when Raider pulled the trigger, it roared; unlike the considerably weaker Ursa, it reposted her attack, and from above, sent its jaundice stinger to punish her assault. Axe heads sprung either sides of the barrels of Raider's second gun, and pointing it to the sky, caught the stinger between its double-bitted cleft. The stinger rested heavy, strained, and tediously held by the indomitable spirit of teenage stupidity.

Raider repositioned the gun pinned to the Death Stalker's mouth to kiss the ground; when the Grimm's claws encroached from either side, she fired, and was sprung above the pincers. There was only a moment of levitation, a single repose, before Raider fired into the Grimm's eyes: the recoil sent her backwards, and the beast, covered the smoke of smoldering shells, stayed hushed while Raider skidded to a backwards halt.

She smirked, and relishing her the grace of her display, popped the necks of her guns to load fresh cartridges into them. "Are you satisfied?" Calluna asked, now beside her, "for someone your size, I expected you to be stronger."

"What are you talking about? I—" Raider was interrupted by the Death Stalker's screech, and rather than angered, the chitinous monster rampaged towards them, merely embittered by Raider's assault.

"Just hit its face really hard. _Really_ hard. Not enough to kill, it but enough to make it stop moving." Raider grimaced at the notion of taking orders—especially from him—but it just so happened that "hitting it really hard" was her plan anyways. Instead of snapping at him, she glared, and rushed forward, shot the ground behind her and rocketed over the Death Stalker's tongs; midair, she smashed the butts of her shotguns together locked them into place. A staff, conjoined shotguns, sprung axeheads from either side, and with the seismic prowess of a furious meteor, Raider struck _Wolf Joint_ into the ground—right before front of the Death Stalker's head.

It collided face-first into the staff, screaming as it was forcefully halted and its latter half was reared into the air. Consequently, the Grimm's stinger overshot Raider and was slung _far_ forward—right into a three-clawed gauntlet that clamped onto the bulbous appendage. A heavy cord was attached to the grapnel—and that cord was attached to Calluna's arm.

The one-horned Faunus wrenched the apparatus with such force—such sheer intensity—the carapace'd Grimm was pulled tail-over-eyes onto its back with a landing so thunderous it crumbled clay from the canyon walls. The Grimm writhed and flailed with all the venom in its aberrant anatomy; but, as Raider realized, it was clearly immobilized, and its unarmored underbelly was exposed to the sky—perfect to attack.

The wolf drew her weapon from the ground and grinned upon the upturned giant: the backend of the staff blasted off and sent her spiraling into the air. At her apex, a second shot sent her hurdling into the Death Stalker's unprotected neck, Raider's downward fury transfixing clean through to its shell. The impact burst the life from the Death Stalker's eyes, and as Raider rent her weapon from the monster's throat, the throes of its seizure'd legs ceased to prevail.

Raider hopped from the body, weapon slung over her shoulder, a triumphant soldier. With a toothy smirk, she patted her weapon, looked to Calluna, and said:

"Wolf Joint."

"What?"

"Wolf Joint."

"Like an elbow or knee?"

" _Like this weapon, idiot_ ," Raider growled with all the animalistic grace of the animal of the ligament for which she named her weapon.

"Because it combines at a joint?"

"And because I'm a Wolf Faunus."

"That's a terrible name."

As she stalked up to Calluna, Raider snapped her weapons apart and holstered them across her back. "Oh, yeah? What's your weapon's name?"

"Desvult's Elegy."

It was one the greatest names she'd ever heard. Even in the ears of someone whose interests were typically _not_ etymology, the auditory dynamics inexplicably appealed to her. But, unable to concede, Raider was forced into a rather banal diversion:

"How did you know that would work? The whole flippy thingy, I mean."

"That's how I killed the last one." Calluna turned from Raider, evidently disinterested, and continued through the gorge; whether what he said was true or not, Raider was feeling her prospects of command slip away; with little authoritative ground left, she was forced to refute him.

"You did _not_ kill a Death Stalker yourself."

"Why would I lie to you?"

"Because you're acting like _you're_ the leader." Calluna raised a brow, outwardly confused. " _I'm_ the leader," she growled, thumbing her chest.

"Neither of us are. Yet." As much as she wished to, Raider couldn't logically condemn his deliberate efforts to stoke her; however, he'd done enough to aggravate her emotionally. Raider stepped forwards, and a good head taller than him, peered down at her purple-haired partner.

"You know what you're doing."

Calluna made no effort to feign ignorance of his tactics. Instead, he dismissed the accusation, and turned, but as he did, Raider firmly gripped his wrist; it was enough to restrain his movement, and it seemed Calluna knew wouldn't be escaping without invoking the childish violence he'd so-far attempted to bait Raider into committing. The standoff, it seemed, was merely between Raider's ego and Calluna's arrogance—Raider didn't intend to fight, and as it seemed, neither did Calluna—and so they stood, perfectly still—until they heard screaming.

When Calluna tugged, Raider released, expression full of permissions implicit of authority. "Let's go," she said, and as Calluna barreled deeper into the canyon, Raider kept stride with him, withheld capacity to outvie him mutually clear.

Again, the scream was heard, and as they followed its source: a panicked student, hair like ink with a tuft of white on her bangs, legs stuck within a crevice at the bottom of a wide valley. "Hyrda! Hydra! Get me out of here _now!_ " she cried out, struggling to free herself. Raider and Calluna failed to see the urgency until—from the caves and burrows littering the valley—crawled Grimm by _scores_. "Hydra? Hydra, where are you?"

By that time, Raider was already bounding into the ravine, guns out, and with the blades that sprung from their barrels, striking down the Grimm she crossed. "Hold on!" When she reached the precariously positioned girl, Raider offered her a hand, as gracious as she was quick to take hold; Raider held her firmly and pulled.

"Stop! Stop!" the girl cried, and evidently, her knee was stuck by scabrous and crooked juts. "It's not coming loose—"

"Well, what am I supposed to do?"

"Be a good girl and chip away the ground with your axes-gun things!"

"And what? Cut your leg off while I'm at it?"

"If you're _blind_ maybe; if you're _careful,_ I'll be fine."

Raider grimaced at the invading Grimm, swarms accumulating into an imminent assault. "Calluna!" she called, "Cover me!" Kneeling, Raider took her weapon by the barrel, and as industrious as she was delicate, worked away the ensnaring rock.

"Behind you!" yelped the girl; swinging her gun across her neck, Raider fired and blew clean through the chest of a Beowulf. Initially, Raider was appalled by how close the Grimm had come to putting its claws upon her—she then realized that Calluna was nowhere to be found, and more Grimm would soon be upon her.

"Calluna!" Raider shouted, shedding an incessant and aimless fusillade, "Calluna! Get out here! Calluna!" Grimm were plucked from their animalistic existence, bodies tumbling over snaggy jags and ridges. "Calluna! Calluna!" It was hopeless: there were too many Grimm to fight, and as the unfortunate Raider vainly continued to shoot, slash, and bash, she came to realize the helplessness derived from Calluna's absence—and that he likely planned it. With no time to anger or fume, Raider shouted, "Yes! Fine! You win! _You_ lead! Just… _help me_!"

The valley's brim shattered into a maelstrom: boulders and rubble, in a cloud of dust and strife, consumed the hordes of Grimm, devouring all it came upon, and as it would seem, Raider and her damsel. A canister arched over the pair—and as the earthen storm was drew near—landed, and combusted: but it was no conventional explosion. In its a wake formed a large, stone barrier that the landslide vainly sputtered its rocky torrent against. From one side, it seemed as if the Grimm were thwarted; the other, however, was rife with crusading monsters.

Calluna, atop the ridge's rim, stood, right arm out: the cord was strung to a boulder beside him, and with a gentle pull, the boulder rolled down the slope, pulverizing any Grimm it crossed. As it neared the valley's pit, Calluna reared the cord tethering the boulder and, like a pendulum, it's roll curved, arching through the gorge's breadth. It trampled any Grimm that dared to cross its wake, which, by mere minutes, had been every single one.

Calluna let go of the boulder, and it flung to one side, colliding with a small bluff and coming to a shattered halt. The one-horn, retracted his claw, once again cloaked the prosthetic weapon beneath a shroud of purple. Raider stared from below, befuddled, and amidst a graveyard of sable corpses slain by Calluna's machinations.

"That was... magnificent!" Another unfamiliar—with the emerald eyes of an adder or viper—sprung through the gully and up to Raider and her companion. Similarly, though visibly less amused, Calluna trotted towards the duo.

"Hydra! Where the _hell_ have you been?" shouted the girl, leg still submerged in rock.

"Relax, Duna," eased the green-eyes, "one-horn over here told me just how to help you, and clearly, it worked— _really_ well." The corvine girl looked curiously between Calluna and Hydra; Raider, just the same, was surprised the two had already acquainted. When she looked to her partner, Raider was met with unforgiving eyes, and unable to remit such staggering weakness, shied from his stare. It was a wordless sentence, one made mortally clear by Calluna's manipulative prowess: 'you are inferior.'

"Oh, well, thank you then." Duna smiled and then said to Raider, "though if you wouldn't mind finishing the job…"

"Right." Raider resumed her chore to erode Duna free. "What happened to you guys anyways?"

"Ah, what a humorous tale." Hydra chuckled; his partner only shook her head. "We were heading from the airship—"

"You already made it to the airship?" Raider interrupted.

"We both jumped within a proximity to last."

"I actually _did_ jump last," Duna interjected.

"Anyways, we'd just turned back when Duna tossed her weapon into the ravine."

Immediately, Calluna and Raider looked upon Duna with bizarre assessment; Duna, indignant, rebutted Hydra's statement. " _You_ were the one who dropped it."

"You were the one who threw it—"

"You were the one who wanted to play catch!"

"Anyways—again—" Hydra continued—"she slipped and became trapped. I heard screaming but _he_ halted me and devised better plan. I mean, I would've attempted the same thing you did—try and go full hero to free her." And as Hydra mentioned, Duna wrenched her leg from the carved-out crevice.

"Finally! Ah, that feels so much better." Duna stood and stretched, wiping the copious soot from her trench coat, "Thanks—"

"Raider," she said, standing and dusting her pants, "Raider Ulfolk."

"Dashing name for a dashing hero," Duna gleamed, and by that simple comment, Raider was somewhat restored by such trifling admiration. Satisfied with her heroism, Raider smugly slung her weapon across her back.

"If you think so." Raider coyly smiled, and immediately Calluna intervened.

"Calluna Oldspell."

"I'm Hydra Petralgama." Without permission, he disheveledly shook Calluna's hand and consequently disheveled Calluna. "That planning was fantastic. Really."

The one-horn blinked, stepped from Hydra, and deflected thusly: "Don't you still need to return the fragment? You don't want to lose your lead, do you?"

Hydra, unperturbed by Calluna's blatant callus, beamed and pulled Duna towards him. "As sharp as always, Luna—"a nickname Raider took note to frequently employ—"I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't stepped in."

"The crash site is about ten minutes northeast of here," Duna told Raider, "so you must've covered some legit ground since you jumped first. Do you run a lot or something?"

"Alright, alright." Hydra shoved Duna in the direction away from Raider and Calluna. "We get it, Duna. Come on. Let's go." Duna shook her head, waved, and began a jog; Hydra grinned at Calluna and Raider, wiped a shock of gray bangs from his face, and followed.

Once they were gone, Calluna began walking—not in the direction Duna had advised.

"Where are you going?" Raider asked, "That's the wrong way."

"I'm going to the pickup zone."

"Without the scrap metal?"

" _With_ the scrap metal." Calluna held up his claw, and clutched between the three digits was a warped piece of glittering steel. Raider lunged and snatched it from the grapnel, scouring it, and incredulously assessing its legitimacy.

"How the—"

"I took it when I first met Hydra."

"Are you kidding me?"

"You're not going to entreat me to return it, are you?" As dishonest as it was, Raider was in awestruck disbelief at Calluna's situational finesse; it was a demonstration what his plots had to offer _without_ assistance, and as he intended, Raider pondered what feats they could accomplish under his reign. It was unfortunate she could comfortably assume a role of power, but if Calluna would so successfully and forcefully assert himself, Raider would begrudgingly conced.

"Sadly," she sighed, "no."

* * *

 _Afterword: Now please comment and review if you like. I intended to release the next chapter over the next few weeks. One or two a week... kind of like the actual RWBY. There's actually very little overlap so you can enjoy this isolated event as if it really happened in Remnant! Yup, we've got some wacky characters here! Okay, well, I'll just, um, leave now._


	3. Nymphs

The amphitheater was filled with students anxious to know their teammates, their roommates, and likely their most immediate friends for the next four years. All sat in pairs, clinging to further acquaint themselves to the comrade who had assisted them through the treacherous badlands. Not to the like, Raider avoided conversation with Calluna, and although she wished to meet with Duna and Hydra again, was forced into hiding by the severity of Calluna's plot. He and Raider had arrived first at the pick-up zone—thanks to Hydra's negligence—and consequently achieved the title of "the Hotshots of Haven" even before they returned to the academy. The reputation of excellence was a dull silver lining: however grateful Raider was for their triumph, she regretted losing not one but two possible friends.

Raider glanced at the phlegmatic goat beside her, and wondered if he would be her only companion; the hypothetical entranced her, and incidentally, she was startled when the static of a microphone crackled through the auditorium.

"Again, Headmaster Lionheart isn't feeling well so it seems you're stuck with me again." He was a familiar voice—the one that had forewarned their induction in the Badlands—and dressed in dull green overcoat, collar struck upward, and stone-gray undershirt. For a combat instructor, the attire was underwhelming, but the grueling exhaustion one could see within the old of his eyes was means to convince of a seasoned Huntsman. "He wrote a speech, but luckily for you, I didn't so let's get right into it."

"Ready yourself," Calluna whispered.

"What why?"

"Raider Ulfolk and Calluna Oldspell." Raider's hearted sped, and on impulse, she stood when Calluna did. They snaked through the isles and marched across stage; Raider's ears twitched in excitement and pride, and rather than surprise, the revelation as to why they were called first was made immediately clear: "You two arrived at the pickup zone first and with one of the fastest times to date. I commend your valor and your precision; however, in order to strengthen ourselves, we must make our weakest our strongest. To do so, you will be teamed with the pair who arrived at the evac last: Hydra Petralgama and Duna Marchog."

Raider nearly coughed, visibly lamenting to face those she had betrayed; she heard footsteps behind her and, stepping into line, Duna sent a sideways glare to Raider and Calluna.

"Hotshots of Haven, huh." Duna's tone was unamused, and though Raider winced at the vitriol, could say nothing to justify her accomplice role in their downfall. The wolf averted her eyes, and looked to Calluna for assurance: like a sentinel, he stared forward, seemingly unabashed by the quandrous formation of their team.

"You will fight, dine, and live together as Team Orchid," and as the letter assembled on the screen, Calluna visibly furrowed, "led by Raider Ulfolk."

Had she not so strongly desired to subjugate Calluna's pride, Raider might have stood in awestruck silence. But, so strongly compelled to curtail her partner's gross hold of their relationship, it was an instantaneous transition between total disbelief and utter satisfaction. Smirking, she leaned down and whispered, "Isn't that ironic, Luna?"

Brunswick congratulated Raider, and shook her hand to the chagrin of her teammates, and now, subordinates.

"Justice is dead," Duna muttered as they walked off stage.

"Don't be so grim," Hydra comforted, putting a hand on her coat, "Justice isn't dead. It's just… not here."

"Because it's dead."

"You know what?" Hydra dashed in the path of Duna, stopping her, Calluna, and Raider, "Duna, you may think this is some type of tragedy, and Calluna, you may think you were robbed of a title rightfully yours, and Raider, well, you look pretty smug so I don't think this is much of a loss for you."

"You don't say," Duna snapped only to be shushed by the green-hair.

"Here's the way I see it: Duna and I _would've_ finished first had not certain atrocities been committed, _Calluna,_ but you did have the wit to outsmart us, and for that, you finished first. This team, I think, is a combination of the two _best_ teams—it's just unfortunate we ran into each other."

"I agree." For two reasons, Raider stepped to Hydra's side. Primarily, she agreed with him and was exhilarated and terrified to conceive this had been Calluna's plot all along: to artificially sabotage the foremost pair into last place and consequently team with them. Raider considered the plausibility of Calluna's cunning and was convinced that in order for him to do so, he must have thoroughly researched and calculated— something she would later like confront him over.

Secondarily, it would be prudent to sate Duna and Calluna's embittered cynicism to prevent the schoolgirl equivalent of a coup de tat.

"See? Raider gets it. Come on, Duna!"

"Fine! Whatever! We may have accidentally tricked Haven into making a dream team."

"Excellent!" Hydra stepped towards Calluna, undeterred by the lilac fire. "Come on, Cally—"

"We will reconcile by ice cream." There was a pause, and the sudden sound of Raider stifling laughter. Calluna momentarily eyed her, and she so stopped. "I want ice cream, and the atmosphere is tense."

Hydra and Duna were speechless: for the short time they'd known Calluna, he presented an immovably sour demeanor, so to demand such an absurdity was utterly dumbfounding. To Raider, however, it was an obvious ploy to control the situation and obvious refusal to the implied submission to her leadership.

"I want smoothies." Raider crossed her arms; it was never a chore to combat Calluna, and as it seemed, an activity out of leisure than necessity. Leading the team _was_ her responsibility, so in the case Calluna _did_ oppose her, she would be vindicated to reprimand him. The need to indirectly derail him should pale the option to directly confront, but the luster of the latter was of no interest to Raider. "We should hold it to a vote."

"All in favor of ice cream?" Unfortunately for Calluna, he was the only one to favor his suggestion; Raider had assumed Hydra and Duna would side with her simply by terms of personality favoritism. "Actually?"

* * *

Her team in tow, Raider cut through the crowd of Samba Smoothie patrons; it seemed as if many of the Haven students had similar idea of how to celebrate with their teams. "My treat, guys," Raider said, slapping a small stack of lien on the melmac counter.

"You sure, Raider—

"Just go with, Hydra." Duna waved a dismissive palm to her partner. "Raider: I'll have a large strawberry smoothie."

"Sounds good. Hydra? Calluna?"

"Mango sounds lovely," Hydra said, fingers upon his chin.

"I don't want a smoothie." Calluna crossed his arms, and Raider did the same.

"You can either choose or I'll choose for you."

"I _don't_ want a smoothie."

"Ah, right. You don't want a smoothie, huh?" Raider turned to the store clerk: "One mango, one strawberry, and two pineapple smoothies." She slid the lien towards to the worker.

"Raider—"

"I'm just paying you back for helping me out back in the Badlands."

Hydra raised his hand to propose a counterpoint: "But since you saved Duna, doesn't that mean she should pay for _your_ smoothie? "

"Um—"

"And since Calluna and I saved both of you, she should _also_ pay for our drinks too."

"Hydra—"

"But I suppose that since it was Calluna's plan we should _all_ pay for his drink—"

"I _don't_ want a drink—"

"Hydra!" Raider huffed, "Look, this is about another time so just deal with it." And immediately after disclosing the encounter with the Death Stalker, she regretted having mentioning it.

Hydra crossed his arms and raised a stony brow. "There was another time Calluna saved you?"

"Yes, but—"

"So shouldn't you buy him two—"

Calluna stepped in an interrupted Hydra's misplaced chivalry. "I don't want a drink!" However, upon subsequent consideration, Raider opted to antagonize Calluna than to halt Hydra's hysterics: she turned to the clerk and handed them another fistful of lien.

"Make that three pineapple smoothies—"

"Raider," Calluna growled, attempting to grab the money from her hand; she swerved her wrist and shoved it to the clerk's chest.

"F _our_ pineapple smoothies—"

"Are you daft?"

Raider leaned towards Calluna and flicked tip of his horn. "Five pineapple smoothies." Calluna's gloved hand slapped her her, yielding a dry satisfaction on her face. Duna's ice blue bore into Calluna's lilac, and on Raider's behalf, Duna shoved Calluna by the shoulder.

"Don't touch her like that, one-horn."

"Duna!" Hydra yelped, putting a hand to her shoulder, "We were just starting to get along—"

"Are you really going to just let this guy try and boss you all around?"

"I wouldn't say he's _successful_ ," Raider interjected, disarming Duna into a baffled response.

"Yes, I mean, but are you really going to let him _try_?"

Calluna retorted Duna with a bizarre form of embittered grace: "People typically confront the _people they don't like_. Your vicariousness is rather inconsiderate to our leader, _Duna_."

Hydra stepped between the goat and the human, putting a hand before each. "Enough infighting, please? Could we have a _normal_ conversation? Look at everyone else here. All these teams and partners that actually _like_ each other." Guilt affronted RCHD, and it seemed as if the quarrelling had stopped.

Raider's lips twisted in a pinched scowl, disappointed that it was by _Hydra's_ remarks she realized her behavior was as obstinate to diplomacy as Calluna's. However, it seemed as if Calluna, in his off-putting veil of torpidity, had turned Duna's favor against him. But as much as she wanted a leash on at least _one_ teammate, Raider's sensibility got the best of her; she took Calluna and Duna by the wrists, pulling them to the outside of the café. Hydra gathered the profuse quantity of smoothies and followed his team, his face rife with undertones of prolonged vexation.

"Look, it seems like we have a hard time liking each other; because of that, we're going to have to put a bit more work into getting along." Raider put her fist to her palm, and her ears flattened. "We're going to a combat school; if one of you wants to be a brat, I will _give_ you combat. Got it, _Duna_?"

"Of course, leader—"

Disinterested in Duna's reply, Raider moved to inquire upon her partner. " _Calluna_?"

"I would rather not fight with my teammates," said Calluna in tactful agreement, "At least not _physically_." Duna blew a strand of white from her eyes, delicately provoked by her teammate's politics.

"Good. So can I enjoy my smoothie?" Raider looked to Hydra, struggling to carry the multitude of fruity drinks she had ordered. "Er, smoothies?"

"Good question, Raider," Hydra said, shoving a smoothie into Duna and Calluna's hands, "can we?"

* * *

"I think I had too many smoothies," Raider groaned as she stumbled into RCHD's dorm, suitcase drug behind her, "I feel like a drank a cup of Burn Dust. Let's just figure out the bed situation so I can lie down."

Duna and Calluna simultaneously diverged, placing their respective luggage upon the beds furthest from each other. With little energy left to amend her teammate's feud, Raider flopped on the bed next to Calluna's, prostrate on the sable sheets. Her ears drooped in discomfort, stomach rumbling from the obscene amounts of liquefied pineapple she'd ingested.

"I guess I'll take the bed next to Duna then," Hydra shrugged, sitting on the bed between his partner and Raider. "Oh, Raider, by the way, you didn't go to Sanctum, did you? I don't recall you there."

Raider's ears perked, and she turned her head to look at Hydra. "Nah, we had a family friend who went to Haven so I just worked with him to get in."

"That's peculiar! From what I know, typically parents send their children to academies, right?"

"My parents are extremely overprotective," she sighed and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, "It was a actually miracle that I was sent here."

"How do you mean?"

"I was only trained by a Huntsman so I could deal with bullies and criminals, not so I could become a Huntswoman. But as it happened, I happen to have quite the strong aura."

"That's pretty sick you got in then," Duna said, getting from her bed to join Hydra and Raider's chat, "There's no way I could've gotten in here without Sanctum."

"Nor I," Hydra added, "Compared to you guys, I don't even know why I'm here."

Raider pursued her lips; she hadn't seen Hydra fight, but he was someone she didn't mind placating. "I'm sure you're fine—"

Duna rolled her eyes and playfully shoved her partner. "Hydra _means_ that he has a life."

"Outside the sword?" Raider inquired, tilting her head.

"He's a crazy good sculptor."

"Really?"

"You inflate me, my dear." Hydra smirked at Duna, then putting down and shaking his head. "I am an amateur, but my work somehow manages adoration from certain circles."

"How so?"

"I get endorsements from certain companies and museums—usually museums—

across Remnant," Hydra explained, "and they cover my materials and wage, and I make a statues for their exhibitions."

"We should all go to one sometime," Raider suggested, standing up, "anything for a teammate."

"That would be fantastic if you could!" Hydra stood as well, apparently infected by Raider's enthusiasm. "I'd even love to sculpt you sometime. Especially Calluna."

Calluna's head swung to look at Hydra, incredulous to what he heard. "Excuse me?"

"You have such an interesting profile." The snake eyes leapt across the bed and encapsulated Calluna between his hands. "The horn, the eyes—like… a nymph!" Hydra was ecstatic, even for his typical, cheery demeanor.

In unison, his team inquired, "A nymph?"

"From the myths, remember?" It seemed as if the only familiarity of nymphs belong to Hydra who, after discerning their silence as ignorance, kindly informed them: "They were the disciples of the Four Maidens; they roamed the forest, beautiful, nubile girls and guided wounded warriors to the safety of their enclaves."

Raider bit her lip and looked to Calluna, visibly amused by Hydra's description. "And you think Calluna is 'beautiful' and 'nubile?'"

"Such imagery is rare, and that lone horn is _precisely_ evocative of the nymphs' downfall—"

"When society became organized, became civilizations," Calluna interrupted, "the nymphs strayed further from their hidden dwellings to find wanderers in peril. They strayed further and further from the paths, inevitably killed by the very Grimm they had saved so many brave soldiers from."

Duna, rather confused by the point of the story, bluntly said to Hydra, "Bummer, so why did you call Calluna pretty?"

"The nymphs were said to have long, brightly colored horns so that travelers could see them from afar and through flora." Hydra tapped the top of his head to pantomime horns. "The symbolism of a single horn is tragic—emblematic of the duality of the nymphs' credence to save lost warriors but their obsoletion by society's hand."

"Thanks," Calluna leapt from bed; he monetarily lingered in the doorway to the bathroom. "I'm glad I'm a symbol of the _death of beauty_." The door shut, and immediately guilt wracked Hydra's expression. "I'm taking a shower. We all should after today."

"I _swear_ I didn't mean it like that—"

Raider put a hand on his shoulder. "We know you didn't, Hydra."

"He's just been a drama queen," Duna chuckled.

"And you're not being very empathetic." There was a certain protectiveness Duna inspired, and for whatever reason, Raider acted on it. Calluna reacted poorly, but as a Faunus, she didn't want to imagine losing an ear, what would possibly take it, or _who_ would possibly take it. "Let's just get some sleep, guys—start fresh tomorrow."

Hydra sighed and kicked off his shoes. "Homework should distract us… from ourselves."

"Yes, _that's_ what I'm looking forward to."

"Aren't we all?"


End file.
